


Safe and sound (in your loving arms)

by Bohemian (Linguam)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Compartmentalizing, Fluff, Good Boyfriend Alec Lightwood, How Do I Tag, M/M, Malec, Memories, Mental excursions, Protective Alec Lightwood, author now understands the difficulty of tagging, brief appearance of angst, like blink and you'll miss it, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:52:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12778293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguam/pseuds/Bohemian
Summary: It’s inevitable, when one has been alive as long as Magnus has, to not get overwhelmed, sometimes.





	Safe and sound (in your loving arms)

**Author's Note:**

> Uh... I'm not really sure what this is, tbh (aside from completely self-indulgent on my part). Hope it makes sense.
> 
> Enjoy! (I hope)

A blanket of fine fog envelops his mind, effectively muting his surroundings. The bustling of New York city life is nothing more than an echo, a distorted memory of sound; his skin is cool only to suddenly turn warm again, but he doesn’t feel the gentle breeze licking his arms, or the morning sun chasing the chill away. The color scheme of royal blue, earthy red, and brilliant gold that traverses his living room is dulled, as if viewed through a dirty lens. There is movement around him, fuzzy yet familiar, but his eyes can’t seem to really register it.

It isn’t the first time it happens, and Magnus doubts it’ll be the last.

Over the years, he has come to think of it as a response to too many, accumulative memories, a natural consequence of centuries of living. His mind takes a figurative step back: to gain perspective: to compartmentalize. It’s simple necessity if he wants to keep his sanity—which, incidentally, he does.

Regrettably, it leaves him more or less oblivious to the outside world.

Alec seems to add these “incidences” to the, no doubt ever-expanding, list of his many idiosyncrasies, and takes it in his stride, as he does most things life throws at him. He turns from fierce Shadowhunter to tender caregiver with an ease that is nothing short of impressive, encouraging Magnus to eat, or lie down and rest, because Magnus is so deeply submerged in his own head that he keeps forgetting such simple, mundane things such as food and sleep.

He honestly has no idea how Alec coordinates it with his, frankly, insane work schedule, but on those days, he always manages to be there. Magnus has told him numerous times that it isn’t necessary, that he just needs some time to process, to organize his thoughts, but Alec wouldn’t hear it.

“If you need time, take it,” he’d said once, frustrated at Magnus’ complete inability to let himself be taken care of. “But I’m not leaving you alone like this, Magnus.”

The fact that Magnus is one of the most powerful warlocks alive, completely safe within the confines of his wards, didn’t seem to weigh into the conversation at all. Alec still worried—about him, about his safety.

Magnus loves him so much it _hurts._

Alec stays, and guides him, touch gentle and steady at the low of his back, from the couch to the bedroom, and Magnus follows, pliant and instinctively trusting. Despite being very tactile usually, too much warm skin against his own slams through the fog, threatens to drag him back before he’s managed to piece his fractured mind back together; so, Alec only treats him to simple, fleeting touches. Anchoring, without being intrusive.

Magnus knows that Alec finds it disconcerting, but he never complains; probably because he knows, by now, that there is nothing to do but wait it out. And, possibly, because he knows what it’s like, to be trapped in one’s own mind.

He talks to him, though, voice soft and warm and just far away enough that Magnus can’t decipher the words, but he never demands anything, never expects an actual, verbal response—which is just as well, because Magnus really can’t be expected to manage something as complex as stringing words into sentences, not when his mind is scattered over every memory of his very, _very_ long existence. He’s there, yes... but he isn’t exactly present.

Alec always asks him, when he finally finds his way back out of the maze of centuries of memories, if he wants to talk. He always asks, but he never pushes, and for that, Magnus is beyond grateful. Sometimes, there simply aren’t any words.

Like now, Magnus muses, when he returns to himself after his most recent mental excursion, and the first thing he sees is his Alexander lying next to him in bed, face slack and features relaxed in sleep. Magnus is known to be quite the eloquent person, but even he doesn’t possess the appropriate words to describe the multitude of emotions that awaken in him at the sight of dark, tousled hair, and plump, pink lips slightly parted: the very picture of peace and tranquility.

It’s been months, and Magnus still finds himself questioning how he can have been so fortunate as to have found _this,_ after so long. He prides himself in always trying to see the upside to everything in life, but a heart can only take so much, and his has been beaten, broken, fractured, and shattered so many times that hoping for more than he’d found thus far just seemed foolish and naive.

And then came Alexander, taking him completely by surprise. Always surprising him.

It’s enough for a whole new set of overwhelming emotions to start stirring.

Magnus gently squeezes Alec’s hand—fingers already interlaced with his own, he notes in wry amusement—just can’t help himself. Alec, a naturally light sleeper and always so in-tune with him, especially during these moments, immediately stirs.

“Magnus?” he slurs, eyebrows already twitching to form that characteristic frown he wears far too often, and, in the calm of early morning, with soft rays of predawn sunlight peeking through the curtains to bathe his pale, rune-ridden skin in the most alluring shade of gold, that simply won’t do.

Magnus reaches out with his free hand and gently strokes at Alec’s forehead, erasing the creases before they are allowed to fully take form.

“I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

Alec grunts and shifts onto his back without opening his eyes. He tugs at Magnus’ arm, and Magnus goes happily, repositioning himself with his head on Alec’s chest and an arm over his waist. 

Alec sighs contentedly.

“Wanna talk?” he mumbles, although Magnus can tell he’s seconds away from falling back asleep; he’ll have to ask what’s been going on these past few days—or however long it’s been, this time—while he’s been sojourning in his own head; Alec looks exhausted.

“Maybe later,” Magnus answers softly, placing a chaste kiss on Alec’s chest. The hair there tickles his face and he nuzzles into it; everything in him thrumming with pure content. “For now, let’s just sleep.”

Alec hums, and, as his breaths deepen and even out in sleep, Magnus can’t help but smile.

After having lived through all of those memories—of heartache, grief, and isolation—the warmth of Alec’s body beneath him, the gentle huffs of air rustling through his hair, the arm curled protectively around his back…

It really does feel like coming home.


End file.
